Fireworks
by fairwinds09
Summary: Gibbs and Kate watch the fireworks display over the Mall on the Fourth of July.


Title: Fireworks

Rating: K

A/N: Well, this is a little late, but Happy Fourth of July!! This is just a short little KIBBS fanfic to celebrate the recent holiday, and to honor those men and women in the military who are currently serving their country all around the world. Hope you enjoy a little red, white, and blue romance...and a few fireworks, of course.

By the way, yes, I am planning on finishing Undercover. (When, I can't exactly say.) I am currently working on Chapter 13, which is living up to its reputation as an unlucky number. When I get it written the way I want it, you will be the first to know. Thanks for your interest, and your reviews, which are always welcome. Long live KIBBS!!

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The flash of bright lights, the whirl of color, the sharp tang of gunpowder filling the air. Children screamed in fear or delight, their parents clapped or soothed frightened tears, and over it all the continuous sharp crackle of fireworks burst through the hot July evening.

Kate leaned back in her lawn chair, enjoying the spectacle almost as much as the kids running around on the grass in front of her. She loved fireworks—the bright colors, the loud noises, the dazzling spectacle against the dark sky, the unfettered freedom that rode right on the edge of danger. In fact, she loved the entirety of the Fourth of July. She loved the smell of barbecue slow-roasting on a grill, the sweet, crisp taste of watermelon, flags waving in a slow breeze, old dance tunes pouring out of a radio. Curled up in the chair, a cold drink at her feet and a small smile curving her lips, she was deeply glad that the Director had authorized this little celebration.

Most of the agents at NCIS usually spent the Fourth of July either at home with their families (if they _had_ families) or with friends—or, if they were like Gibbs, by themselves with a bottle of bourbon and a half-finished boat. But this year, someone had come up with the bright idea of having an informal party on the Mall, with agents bringing their spouses and kids or significant others to join the celebration. Two or three of the men had brought their grills, and they'd had barbecued ribs and coleslaw and potato salad, with brownies and ice cream sundaes for dessert. At the moment, she was so stuffed she wasn't sure she could move even if she wanted to. But it had been fun to sit on the velvety grass and eat picnic-style, to joke and laugh with the team, to play with the kids that would run up waving sparklers or with half-eaten popsicles melting all over their hands. It had almost been like being with her family.

Still smiling at the memory, she looked to her left where Abby lay on her back, her dark clothes blending into the night so that she could barely see the outline of the Goth lab rat. Carefully Kate reached over with her foot and poked the other woman in the side.

"What?" Abby muttered from her prone position. Kate grinned evilly and curled up in her chair again.

"Just making sure you were awake to watch the show," she said innocently.

"Of course I'm awake," Abby said indignantly. "I would never miss the fireworks show over the Mall."

"I didn't even know you liked fireworks."

"I _love_ fireworks!" Abby said with all of her usual bubbly enthusiasm. "Gunpowder, loud popping noises, chemical reactions exploding in midair, and all of it's legal and sanctioned by the government. What's not to like?"

Kate chuckled. "I should have known. Hey, where'd Tony run off to?"

Abby shrugged. "I think he's over there somewhere, lighting firecrackers for the kids. He really loves getting to set things on fire. I don't think it actually has anything to do with the kids."

"That's because he's still one himself," Kate observed dryly. "Do you think he's a closet pyromaniac?"

"Uh-uh," Abby said positively. "That's McGee. He told me this story once—when he was a little kid, he had this chemistry set, like the kind you get for Christmas or whatever? Anyway, he somehow managed to make his own tiny little bomb, all by himself, and set his neighbor's doghouse on fire by accident. It was _hilarious_."

Kate goggled before a moment before finally regaining her voice.

"You have no idea how disturbing that is, Abby. _No_ idea. Okay. Moving on. So if McGee is such a manic pyro, let me guess where he is at the moment."

Abby's raspy chuckle floated out of the darkness. "Hah. Yeah, you got it." Just at that moment, a particularly large firework exploded loudly in midair. She whooped joyously and raised two fingers over her head in a rocker's salute. "Way to go, McGee. You rock!!"

Kate shook her head disbelievingly. "Uh-huh. So McGee and Tony are off shooting sparklers, Ducky is—"

"—discussing autopsies with a fellow M.E. from Baltimore," Abby supplied helpfully,

"—and Gibbs is…"

"—I don't know." Abby sat up, frowning a little in puzzlement as yet another pyrotechnical display lit up the D.C. skyline. "Last time I saw him he was over by the grills, nursing a beer and looking really grumpy. He _so_ does not want to be here."

"I know," Kate responded, an edge of exasperation in her tone. "It's kind of obvious. In fact, I don't think he would have come at all if the Director hadn't pulled him into his office yesterday morning and gave him a lecture about being there for the team and supporting the agency, etc., etc. Gibbs was mad for the rest of the day."

Abby chuckled again. "I know—he came stomping down to my lab all grouchy and pissed-off yesterday afternoon. Looks like he hasn't changed much since. Maybe he'll run into that redhead from the JAG office before the night is over. _That_ should put him in a better mood."

Kate nodded, trying to ignore the hot bubble of resentment and jealousy building in her chest. She knew it wasn't Abby's fault—how could she know of the secret, shameful attraction Kate held for their boss? She'd kept a lid on her inappropriate fantasies for two long years, ever since she'd met him on Air Force One and first registered the cool confidence that was his trademark in a field dominated by strong personalities. Jethro Gibbs had stood out from the very beginning, and in the intervening time that she'd worked for him, his appeal hadn't lessened any—had grown, rather.

She was almost used to it by now, she told herself. She had almost grown accustomed to those long, unsettlingly intense looks he gave her on occasion, to the way he stood just a little too close and yet not close enough when he asked her a question or made an observation, to his sly innuendoes and his constant physical presence. She was almost used to that little pull of desire deep in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw him, to the mental reminder that he was off-limits for more reasons than just Rule #12, to the fiercely restrained chemistry that seemed to flare between them whenever they got within about five feet of each other. But somehow, despite all of that, she still hated the idea of him spending the rest of the evening in the company of some red-headed lawyer—even though she was well aware of all the reasons that she and Gibbs should never even consider spending the evening with each other.

Abby looked over at her, puzzled by her sudden introspective silence, and she was glad that the encroaching darkness wouldn't show her sudden blush. Shrugging a little, she leaned down to retrieve her drink from the grass and took a long sip. Suddenly there was a rush of feet in the grass behind her and long fingers reached over the back of her chair to tickle her ribs. Startled, Kate sat bolt upright and shrieked.

"Tony!" she huffed furiously. "I should have known. Leave me alone, you overgrown moron."

Looking hurt, her fellow agent flopped down in the grass beside her chair and threw his head back to look up at the flaming sky.

"Aww, don't get mad, Kate," he said in his most winning fashion. "I was just kidding. Besides," he pointed out cheerfully, "it's the Fourth of July."

Kate shot him a dirty look. "If this were Christmas, you might have some kind of point," she said icily. "I mean, at least you could skate by on the whole season of cheer and goodwill thing. But the Fourth of July? All you can really milk out of that holiday is fireworks and barbecue."

Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned. "I'm up for the fireworks if you are, Kate," he said suggestively.

She merely rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair again. "In your dreams, Tony."

Wrapping both arms around his knees like a five-year-old, the other agent gave her an innocent smile.

"I didn't see you bring a boyfriend this afternoon," he pointed out maliciously. "Guess your dreams are the only place you'll be getting any fireworks tonight."

Kate gritted her teeth and locked both hands around the bottle to prevent herself from reaching over and wringing Tony's neck. She _was_ dating someone at the moment, just a casual flirtation really, but she hadn't even thought of asking him to the NCIS barbecue. Somehow deep inside she knew that she hadn't wanted to bring her current fling to a party where he'd meet Gibbs, where Gibbs would see her with another man and assume that they were together. Somehow it had felt like cheating, though on whom or with whom she couldn't really say. And that knowledge had been eating at her more and more as the evening progressed.

Her seething thoughts were interrupted by McGee's timely arrival as the junior agent came puffing up and dropped down gratefully beside Abby. He smelled distinctly of gunpowder and, if the dim light served, had several dark streaks on his perspiring face. He looked blissfully happy though, and completely unconcerned about the grass streaks on his neatly pressed khaki shorts and starched cotton shirt.

"Have fun with your bottle rockets, McSparkles?" Tony inquired from beside her. Sighing, McGee leaned back on his elbows and gazed up at the show.

"Oh, yeah," he breathed reverently. "They were awesome. I mean, we had everything from adapted Roman candles to this really cool combo pack with three different kinds of fuses and a chain reaction of combustion, not to mention the little twist that we attached to the end with a little fancy hard wiring. You would have loved it," he exclaimed, turning to Abby as he spoke.

"Of course I would, McGee," she said exuberantly. "I always love things that blow up."

As they smiled at each other in perfect accord, Kate felt something dark and ugly twist inside of her. She didn't envy McGee and Abby their easy friendship or their on-again, off-again fling, but she couldn't fight the sense of loss, of loneliness that enveloped her as she curled in her lawn chair, clutching her almost empty bottle, and in that single moment, so terribly alone. The irony of it struck her so vividly that she almost laughed aloud. Here she was, sitting with her friends and co-workers, enjoying one of her favorite nights of the entire year, and she was miserable because one single man wasn't right there to enjoy it with her. She was officially pathetic, there was no question about it. And right then she just couldn't stand another minute of it.

"I'm going to go get something else to drink," she announced casually, standing up with a feigned show of stiff muscles. "Any of you want anything?"

McGee and Abby shook their heads, but Tony tapped her ankle as she walked past him.

"Get me a Coke, will you? And not any of that Diet crap, either. Just a regular Coke," he said with a charming little smile.

"They're your arteries," Kate muttered under her breath as she kept going, but she nodded to make sure he knew she got the message. She was just going over to the drink coolers and back, she promised herself. Just that little errand and no more. And if she should happen to check out who was standing around the grills as she passed by, it was no more than a casual observation.

Which was why she was incredibly shocked and not a little pleased when, as she bent over one of the ice-filled coolers to rummage for Tony's Coke, a familiar deep voice rumbled in her ear, "What are you looking for?"

Fighting the urge to jerk with surprise, she kept her head down and continued rummaging in the ice, barely aware of the fact that her fingers were slowly going numb with cold. He looked too damn appetizing, standing there in worn blue jeans and a T-shirt with "NCIS" stamped across the front, the soft breeze ruffling his silver hair. She'd never really seen him in casual clothes before, and the sudden lack of formality was doing strange things to her blood pressure…not to mention her heartbeat.

"Getting a Coke for Tony," she replied with only a faint trace of nervousness in her voice. "You?"

"Oh, I'm not looking for anything," he said breezily, waggling his half-empty beer bottle between two fingers. Sourly she mused that his statement could have several different meanings, all of which were applicable to her current situation. Scowling, she retrieved the Coke can and prepared to head back to her comfortable lawn chair and as far away as possible from temptation. But before she could rush off, he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"The Marine Band's about to play the national anthem," he informed her in reply to her surprised look. Intrigued, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I haven't heard the Marine Band since I was in the Secret Service," she murmured softly. "This should be pretty good."

He nodded. "You can hear them clear across the Mall," he said matter-of-factly. "Listen."

He tilted his head in the direction of the faint sound of horns borne on the warm summer breeze. Gradually the sound grew louder as the busy rush of conversation and movement around them ceased and people stood quietly to hear the first notes played.

At first there was simply the brisk fanfare of trumpets to catch the crowd's attention and give the musicians a moment to warm up. But after a few moments the quick, brassy sixteenth notes that began the anthem soared out bravely over the dark quadrangle, into the suddenly silent night.

"Oh, say can you see / By the dawn's early light / What so proudly we hailed / By the twilight's last gleaming…"

Kate found herself unconsciously mouthing the familiar words as the golden trumpets with their rich harmony filled the open space. Sneaking a glance over at Gibbs, she saw he stood silent and motionless, not quite at attention but his posture reminiscent of the discipline he'd learned in the Corps. As she looked discreetly around her, she noticed several men and women standing sharply to attention, their hands raised in a respectful salute. Wryly the thought entered her head that if she were to listen to the national anthem with any crowd, this would be her top pick. And as her gaze swiveled to the spotlighted flag waving proudly from the top of the Capitol, pride rose up and clogged her throat, moistened her eyes and squeezed her heart as her lips whispered the last words of the song.

"…O'er the land of the free / And the home of the brave."

As the last clear notes died away, she could hear the patter of applause and a few scattered shouts of approval spread across the Mall. But at the moment, all her attention was centered on the man who stood straight and still beside her, his head lifted in an unconscious gesture of loyalty and of pride.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost without thinking. She regretted saying anything at all as his head swiveled around and his eyes sought hers in the darkness. But much to her surprise, Gibbs actually seemed interested in her comment.

"You think so?" he queried expressionlessly. Somehow she felt he was poking fun at her, making light of her foolish, naïve remark. All the irritation she'd been suppressing throughout the evening suddenly boiled to the tip of her tongue.

"Of course I do, Gibbs," she snapped crossly. "I work for a federal agency, for God's sake. Surely that means something when it comes to the subject of patriotism."

Unfazed by her sudden burst of temper, he cocked his head slightly to one side and stared down at her. "Not always, Kate," he murmured quietly. "But it does to you."

She felt uncomfortable, stripped bare by his soft questions, his probing gaze. Resisting the impulse to squirm, she prepared to brush past him and go back to her long-deserted lawn chair.

"Where are you going, Katie?" he asked her directly, moving slightly so that his big body almost brushed hers. Her heart jumped into her throat and began to thud rapidly of its own volition.

"I—back to the lawn, I guess," she stammered, hating her treacherous tongue and slow-firing brain. How did the man always manage to make her sound like a fifteen-year-old girl with her first crush, she wondered? But he was still standing too close, looking down at her with a slight smile tugging at those wickedly sensual lips.

"Aren't you going to watch the fireworks?" he said with a slow sideways glance that had heat creeping slyly up the back of her neck. Did the man have any idea what he did to her just in the course of a casual conversation? Probably not, she decided. She herself didn't really even know what exactly happened when he spoke to her in just that tone.

"Umm…well, we had a couple of lawn chairs over there, and I…" She wondered briefly if she sounded as foolish as she thought she did, then decided that she really didn't want to know. He was still standing there, beer clutched loosely in one hand, presumably waiting on her to make some sort of sensible reply. He tilted his head to one side just a little, examining her face with a grave curiosity that made her simultaneously want to smile and throw both arms wildly around his neck in complete abandon.

And suddenly she was tired of pretending, to herself and everyone else. Tired of denying, tired of hiding, tired of running away from what she really wanted, _who_ she really wanted. Tonight, with Roman candles wheeling overhead brighter than the spinning stars, she wanted to finally reach out and take what she'd wanted all along.

"Then again, I suppose I could watch them from here," she said boldly, and was rewarded with the familiar little quirk of the lips that meant he had probably read her mind and was thoroughly amused by what he'd seen. Sometimes she hated that about him. But not tonight.

"Okay," he said easily, and for a moment they stood there in silence as explosions of sound and color burst brightly across the sky. Without thinking about it, she opened Tony's Coke and sipped idly, more to give herself something to do with her hands than because she actually wanted the drink. Gibbs looked over at her and grinned.

"What?" she asked, wondering what had tickled him so. He raised an eyebrow and gestured to the bottle in her hand.

"DiNozzo's going to be wondering where his drink went off to," he said by way of explanation. She huffed out a soft laugh.

"He'll live," she said coolly. "If he wants a drink so badly, he'll come get it himself."

Gibbs smiled a little in the dim light, and took a sip of his beer. "Good night for fireworks," he commented after a minute, and Kate nearly dropped her drink at the shock that rippled through her. Gibbs, making small talk? What was happening here? But after a few seconds of speechlessness, she abruptly recovered her voice.

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, flicking her eyes sideways at him as she tried to figure out what he was up to. "I love fireworks—always have, ever since I was a little kid. They were my favorite part of the Fourth of July."

His lips curved a little as she reminisced, and she stood briefly rooted to the ground, captivated by the sweetness of that subtle smile. Then she turned her head and looked straight at him, smiling right back.

"What was your favorite part of the Fourth, Gibbs?" she asked softly, trying to keep the tone of their impromptu conversation friendly but not too intimate. After all, if he knew the visual images that were wheeling through her head right at this moment he'd probably turn tail and run until the Mall was a good two or three miles away.

He stared off into the distance, absently twisting the bottle around in his fingers. "I guess I always liked the parades," he said finally, his voice muted with the weight of memory. "We always went into the city to visit my aunt and uncle, and they'd take us downtown to see the big parade. I liked the bands, the crowds, the excitement. It was fun."

She chanced another quick look, still somewhat shocked that he was speaking so openly, being so friendly. She'd never seen Gibbs quite like this, and she wasn't sure whether it was the effects of half a bottle of beer or something else…present company, for instance. But she hardly dared to hope that.

"I liked the parades too," she said as another firework boomed above their heads. "And I loved watching the bands, especially the military ones. All those guys in uniform, perfectly in step…I was always so impressed by them."

That cocky grin lifted the corner of his mouth again. "Had a thing for guys in uniform, did you?"

She laughed a little and shot him a flirtatious glance from under her lashes. "Maybe I did, Gibbs. Is that such a bad thing?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Nope. Not at all. I had a thing for majorettes when I was a kid. I think it was the high-heeled boots that did it."

This time she tilted her head back and laughed, her whole body shaking with amusement.

"You liked the majorettes, Gibbs? Seriously?" She shook her head as if to dispel the mental image. "No. No, I just can't picture it."

He gave her an offended glare. "What's so strange about me liking majorettes?"

She stopped laughing and looked at him shrewdly. "Let me guess—the first one you ever saw was a redhead, right?" At his guilty start, she chuckled evilly. "I thought so. High-heeled boots, my eye."

"Hey," he said, spreading his hands to indicate his innocence, "to each his own. Besides, I think my tastes have changed lately."

"Is that so?" she teased him. "Finding cheerleaders more to your liking these days?"

He raised a sardonic eyebrow at her and brought his bottle to his lips. As he lowered it, he turned his head slightly and sent her another of those slow, lingering glances that seemed to make her melt from the inside out.

"Uh-uh," he said positively. "I still go for majorettes. But the hair color has changed."

"Really?" she managed over a suddenly dry throat. Was she just imagining it, or was he actually staring at the dark locks of hair fluttering behind her?

"Yep," he said nonchalantly. "I've discovered that brunettes are more my style lately."

Kate nearly choked on the sip of Coke she'd just taken. Surely he hadn't said what she thought he'd just said. Surely he wasn't talking about her. Surely he wasn't turning to look at her with heated possession in those impossibly blue eyes. Surely not. And yet…

"Gibbs," she finally managed to squeak out, "what are you trying to say?"

He tilted his head towards her. "I'm not blind, Katie," he murmured softly. "And though my track record with women is admittedly not the greatest, I'm not so stupid as to not realize when a woman wants a man. Or when he wants her back."

Catapulted into blind shock by the sheer unexpectedness of his statement, Kate stammered out the first thing that came to mind. "What about Rule #12?"

He grinned at her again, a devil-may-care light entering his eyes.

"It's a holiday," he said, almost cheerfully. "And I didn't get myself a Christmas present last year."

Flabbergasted, she couldn't move or speak or even gather the good sense to blink at him, just stood there with her eyes wide as dinner plates, staring up at him in complete and utter disbelief. Finally he came to her rescue by bending down and leaning his half-empty bottle against the side of the one of the coolers.

"I hear that you get a particularly good view of the fireworks over by the Botanic Garden," he remarked off-handedly. "Care to come see?"

Finally regaining a modicum of poise, she swung into step beside him as he headed off into the fragrant darkness. She couldn't believe this, couldn't let herself keep dreaming that this moment was actually happening. But if she was in a dream, it was definitely one of the best she'd had in a very long time.

"Like I told you, fireworks are my favorite part of the Fourth," she informed him happily. "And I particularly like getting the best view in the stadium, so to speak."

Judging that they were sufficiently out of view of the other agents standing around, he took the chance and reached over to capture her hand.

"Glad to be of help, then," he said warmly, his wide palm engulfing hers as they strode off toward the wide gates that marked the garden's entrance. "Anything else I can do?"

"Mm-hmm," she murmured softly as they stopped beneath the shadowy cover of a huge oak tree, its drooping leaves the perfect shield from passers-by. "You can do something I've wanted since the first day I met you."

He slid one arm around her waist, anchoring her to him as he lifted her chin slightly with the other hand. "What's that, Katie?" he asked huskily.

"You can kiss me, Gibbs," she whispered, letting her eyelids fall shut as the moment spun out between them. "Kiss me right here, right now, while the fireworks go off on the Fourth of July."

She heard him chuckle softly as his warm breath wafted across her face.

"Happy holiday, Katie," he murmured in her ear right before his lips found hers unerringly, began to weave their sinful magic through her befuddled brain. Surrendering to his insistent grasp, she melted against him and kissed him back for all she was worth, her tongue tangling with his in an impossibly sensual dance, her body clinging to his with a mixture of wonder and amazement at the feel of his touch. Finally he lifted his head, both of them panting for air, and gazed down at her with lust and amusement warring in his eyes.

"I think you're missing the fireworks, Katie," he muttered hoarsely, his voice raspy with unfulfilled desire. She grinned at him and hooked both arms around his neck, her eyes issuing wanton invitations and her body moving slowly against his.

"Uh-uh," she said teasingly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I think we're making our own here, Gibbs."

And so he was laughing as his mouth descended to plunder hers again, her lips a willing victim in the softly scented shadows. The pop and sizzle of the fireworks sounded tinny and far away in her ears as the bright lights rained down above their little hideaway. But his arms were wrapped around her, his lips tormenting the soft skin of her neck and ear, and little miniature explosions were slowly destroying every single brain cell she had left. Somehow, she didn't really care anymore that she was missing the show.

Apparently, the fireworks you set off yourself really were the best.


End file.
